"Vanity? Perhaps, and perhaps you had something to do with it, Basil."
"I had? What do you mean?"
"You know well enough. You know what happened before I went away. You know how I felt about it—or perhaps you don't know."
"What idiocy!" said Basil savagely. "Do you mean to say that because of that … I don't believe you."
"I'm lying, then?"
"I don't believe that made any real difference to you. How could it? You know well enough it didn't, to me."
"And this doesn't, to me."
"But it does to me! It makes all the difference to me! Don't tell me! you don't care for that man—I know you do."
"Yes, in a way—I am—fond of him. It's true."
"Yes, it's true. And you've written to him."
"Yes. And I've sent a cable to London to find out whether he's dead or alive."
"Yes!"
Basil got up and walked a few steps down the path, and stood still. Teresa wrapped her scarf more closely about her and shivered slightly. A cold wind swept through the orchard; dry leaves came fluttering down from the apple-trees.
"We can't go on," said Basil, hollowly.
